Tag Archives: middle finger

law, Police, Reality TV, TV, YouTube

My evening with crusty, stinky feet, and “stinking drunk driving” cops…

Bill left for Stuttgart yesterday, so I spent last night on the proverbial wagon, catching up on episodes of My Feet Are Killing Me, which is a pretty gross, but oddly compelling, TLC show about podiatry. TLC isn’t exactly the best channel for highbrow television, but watching that show has given me new respect for foot and ankle surgeons. I remember how Dorothy on The Golden Girls was unimpressed when her daughter married a podiatrist. There were gags aplenty about what an uneventful, boring, unsexy speciality it is. But watching just one episode of My Feet Are Killing Me can prove just how challenging the field can be for the right people. I can see that they really do make a big difference in improving the quality of their patients’ lives.

I watched four action-packed episodes of My Feet Are Killing Me, all of which featured people with various tumors, swelling, crusts, warts, and oozing lesions that were embarrassing and horrifying. Then I went back to YouTube, looking for something short to pass the last minutes before it was time to turn out the light.

I ended up on yet another police action channel. This must be the latest YouTube trend– people getting bodycam videos from police stations around the United States and uploading them to YouTube. I found myself on a channel called Real World Police. I’ve watched several videos on this channel and ended up subscribing to it last night, when I happened to catch the bodycam documentation of former Lower Township, New Jersey police lieutenant John Chew, when he was caught driving while under the influence of lots and lots of alcohol.

Below you can see the three videos that lay out this astonishing incident in detail. The first two pretty much detail everything, while the third is a short soundless synopsis of Chew’s booking. His arrest happened on the lovely spring evening of April 27, 2018. Chew, then 48 years old and off duty, was driving his black Chevy truck erratically enough that several people called the police to complain. One caller had said that Chew was driving at a high rate of speed, had run a red light, and crashed several times. Fellow cops quickly found Chew, and noticed that he wasn’t able to stay in his lane. After a couple of miles, Chew was finally pulled over, and he was clearly inebriated. He was so impaired that he needed to lean on his truck to remain upright.

After he failed the field sobriety tests, Chew was advised that he was being arrested for DWI. Chew then tried to sit in the front seat of the police cruiser, but was told he had to sit in the back. He was not handcuffed. Although his cop brethren were treating him with great respect, Chew behaved like he was enraged at getting caught while driving so obviously loaded with booze. Chew was a 23 year veteran of the force, and had even been promoted a few months before he was pulled over for DWI.

The officers who arrested Mr. Chew were put in a pretty awkward situation, as Chew had trained at least one of them.

Once they got to the police station, Chew was confronted by another colleague, also a lieutenant, who asked him questions. To each “yes or no” question, Chew raised his hand and extended his middle finger, to which the sober officer said, “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

The lieutenant who is handling Chew’s case tries so hard to preserve Chew’s dignity, telling Chew that he requested that his mug shot and other details not be uploaded to the agency’s Facebook page or Web site. News of the former cop’s arrest didn’t surface until a year after the incident happened, and only because the good people at Real World Police requested the public records regarding Chew’s case and reported on it. When officials at the agency were asked why the incident wasn’t publicized, Executive Officer Capt. Martin Biersbach explained “I requested it not be published at that time because an Internal Affairs complaint against Lt. Chew had been initiated and we are required by the Attorney General Guidelines to maintain confidentiality.”

As Chew is processed, his former colleague, the lieutenant, tries to reason with him, as Chew bellows that he intends to retire the following day. He is repeatedly told that he must go to the hospital. The lieutenant on duty repeatedly asks Chew to cooperate, warning him that if he doesn’t go quietly, they will have to “tie him down” and take him to the hospital. I assume that’s because they needed a blood sample, after several Breathalyzer tests indicated that Chew had a blood alcohol content of .36, which is EXTREMELY drunk. I also heard the lieutenant remind Chew of the police department’s policies, and then he said, “Frankly, I’m worried about your health.” Evidently, when suspects arrive at the police station with a BAC that high, they automatically go to the hospital for treatment.

In spite of being so wasted, Chew is able to stand up, walk, carry on a conversation… and sort of drive. That, my friends, is a professional level drunk. Chew obviously has an astonishing tolerance for alcohol. And believe me, I know of what I write. Most normal people who have that much booze on board are not coherent at all. According to the chart I linked, Chew must have had over a dozen drinks, and should have been about to drop into a coma. But, as you can see below, he was nowhere near losing consciousness. I was really thinking they were going to have to break out the restraints at some point. Chew kept insisting that he would NOT be voluntarily going to the hospital in an ambulance. He wanted the lieutenant to drive him, which was, of course, against policy.

Chew is handled with a lot of dignity and compassion… but he’s very belligerent, pathetic, and uncooperative. This second video is remarkable.
A shorter video with no sound.

On September 13, 2018, Chew pleaded guilty to a first offense of driving under the influence of alcohol. He was fined about $700, and required to use an ignition interlock for six months after losing his license to drive for seven months. He had to spend twelve hours per week at an intoxicated driver resource center. Mr. Chew was also suspended administratively from his job as police lieutenant, and later filed for retirement, as he was evidently unwilling to cooperate with the police department’s efforts to help him with his obvious problem with alcoholism.

Upon further investigation, I’ve found evidence that the incident from April 2018 was not Chew’s last experience with DWI. According to this link, he also got busted on December 28, 2020, this time while driving a 2015 white Nissan Altima. In that case, he was found sitting behind the wheel, slurring his speech, and stinking of booze. He was not wearing any shoes, but did have on a pair of socks. The police officer who approached him knew him, and Chew apparently felt he was owed a favor, as he asked the cop to either take him home, or follow him home. He repeatedly asked the officer to close his door, but the officer refused. When Chew exited the vehicle, he wasn’t able to stand upright. The officer arrested him, and handcuffed him in front, as Chew said he was in total pain all over.

After Chew was placed in a police car for transport to the station, officers noticed two bottles of Svedka Vodka in the front seat. One bottle was completely empty, and the other was partially empty. A third bottle was in the car’s console, with some vodka missing. At the police station, Chew initially refused to exit the vehicle, but was later convinced to cooperate. His breath was again tested, and that time, he blew a .33. Again– he should have been near comatose, and was very obviously impaired. And once again, he was taken to the hospital by ambulance for medical attention. I’m not sure if he protested as strongly the second time as he did the first time, back in 2018.

I wonder what caused Chew to imbibe so much. I know police work is very stressful. It’s hard on all levels, to include life at home, as well as on the job. Chew was a family man– a husband and father of two. I’m sure his work was hard on his family, especially his wife, who probably worried about him constantly. I hear him say, in the second video, that “life sucks” and to “fuckin’ take care of your fuckin’ marriage.” Chew’s wife probably had to deal with Chew in this state many times, along with the stress of his work. Maybe they were on the brink of divorce? It wouldn’t surprise me. As the daughter of an alcoholic, I also feel sorry for Chew’s kids.

Chew was a member of the SWAT team, which is definitely high stress, very dangerous work. Aside from that, I’ve been watching a lot of cop videos lately, and I’m astonished by what they have to put up with from members of the public. There’s a lot of disrespect and mistrust, which isn’t always unwarranted. But it is a dangerous and necessary job, and there is definitely a lot of danger and stress. I can understand why many cops drink. I also know, having been raised by an alcoholic, how devastating alcoholism is– for the alcoholic, and for all of the people who have to be around them. Then there’s the fact that alcoholism tends to run in families. It definitely does in mine. Maybe Chew has a family history of alcoholism, too.

I’m just glad Chew hasn’t killed anyone… yet.

I’ll probably watch more of the same kind of stuff tonight, as Bill will be gone until Friday. I also plan to keep trying to get through my latest book, so I can review it and move on to something a bit lighter. I could use a break from the doom and gloom that dominates the airwaves these days.

Incidentally, former TLC star Jill Duggar Dillard, has given birth to her third son, Frederick Michael Dillard. He was born July 7th, which is also Bill’s birthday. Looks like he was a little bit early, but otherwise basically healthy. Congratulations to Jill and Derick.

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silliness

Housework can be dangerous…

I hurt myself yesterday. My right ring finger is currently swollen and sore, and has an unusually limited range of motion. It doesn’t hurt to use it for typing, but there is pain when I try to use it for scrubbing. Consequently, I probably won’t be doing much cleaning today. Housework can be dangerous.

I was doing housework when the spectacularly stupid injury occurred. I had stripped the sheets off of the bed so I could wash them. There are six pillows on my bed and I put them on the floor so I could get everything off of the mattress. I also have a backrest that I use when I sit on the bed to watch TV. It has a handle on top of it.

That handle almost killed me yesterday…

As I was making the bed, I reached down to get one of the pillows so I could replace the pillow case. The top of my foot somehow got caught in the handle on top of the “husband” backrest and I lost my balance, suddenly hurtling forward. Instinctively, I put up my right hand to protect my face from hitting the sloped wall so common in Germany.

I hate sloped walls/ceilings. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve hit my head on one of these damned things in every German house we’ve lived in.

My right ring finger hit the wall with so much force that it hyperextended backwards. The sudden wrenching of my phalange led to copious swearing and a massive endorphin rush.

Pain is such a rush.
“There could be some major damage here…”

I can’t really tell by looking at the finger that it’s injured. There’s a little shadowy bruise on the backside of the digit and there’s a bit of swelling that is only obvious to me. It doesn’t hurt quite as much today either, although it’s hard to straighten it. I’m relieved about that, since I couldn’t help but remember something that happened to my late father at the end of his life. He almost lost his middle finger after injuring it while he was dreaming. My dad suffered from post traumatic stress disorder due to being abused by his father and spending too much time in a war zone. Dad was deployed to Vietnam, and was profoundly affected by what he did there.

I have read that when people are dreaming, most of the time their muscles are so relaxed that they don’t function and they’re pretty much “paralyzed”. This is what keeps most dreamers from acting out while they sleep. However, the “paralysis” that stops people from acting out their dreams doesn’t always work. Besides having PTSD, my dad also suffered from several sleep disorders, including sleep apnea and REM Sleep Behavior Disorder. So he would have vivid dreams that would cause him to jump out of bed, scream, shout, and throw punches. One time, when he was sleeping, he threw a wild punch and hit the wall, which really hurt his finger.

Unfortunately, he didn’t take proper care of the injury, and the finger got badly infected. There was some talk that he’d need to have it amputated, but fortunately the injury eventually healed. I remember being freaked out that my dad might need to have his middle finger removed. Then I was reminded of another funny story involving my dad and middle fingers.

Back in 1983, the Waterside was opened in Norfolk, Virginia. In the early days, Waterside was a really cool place to shop. It had a lot of unique stores and restaurants. My parents took me to see it, even though we lived somewhat far from Norfolk. I was about eleven years old at the time.

One of the shops we visited that day was a hat store. They had all kinds of funny hats in there that ranged from the elegant to the profane. I remember laughing uproariously at a baseball hat that had a felt dog on the brim, passing a plastic fire hydrant. You pulled a little plastic string, and the dog’s leg would lift on the hydrant. I think I begged my mom to get it for me, but she refused. My dad, on the other hand, ended up purchasing a black baseball cap that had a yellow felt hand on the brim that formed a middle finger salute.

The hat looked like this, except the hand was made of bright yellow felt stuffed with batting. It was really funny!

Despite his 22 years in the Air Force, my dad was never big on profanity. I think it was because his alcoholic and abusive father swore a lot and his mother, whom everyone adored, never did. Consequently, in 1983, my dad was unaware of what displaying the middle finger means. He showed the hat to my mom, who did know what it meant. She was shocked that he would ever buy such a hat, and she said, “You’re not going to wear that hat in public, are you?”

“Sure, I am.” Dad replied. “I’m gonna wear it to Rotary.”

Mom said, “No, you’re not going to wear that!”

“Yes, I am! I’m going to wear it to my next Rotary Club meeting and say, ‘I don’t agree with any of you!'”

“Do you know what that means?” Mom asked, completely aghast.

“Doesn’t it mean ‘go to hell?'” Dad asked, starting to look a little worried.

“NO!” Mom said, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

She needn’t have bothered trying to protect my virgin ears, since I was watching a lot of HBO and already had a very advanced dirty word and gesture vocabulary for a kid. As many people who know me realize, I still use vulgar language with pride. That hat wound up underneath the driver’s seat in my dad’s ugly bright orange VW van. He never wore it anywhere, yet didn’t throw it away for the longest time. I wish I had pilfered it from him. I’d wear that hat with glee at any pro Trump rally.

When I heard that my dad might lose his middle finger due to injuring it, I couldn’t help but laugh at the memory that he’d once bought a baseball cap with a middle finger on it, not knowing that the middle finger is a very vulgar hand gesture that, if flashed at someone in Germany, can actually lead to arrest and/or fines.

I’m not going to need to have my finger amputated. It’s just going to hurt for awhile. Sometimes I have a habit of thinking of worst case scenarios, which causes unnecessary worry. I don’t think this injury is going to affect me for too long, although it may be awhile before I can straighten my finger properly again.

Most injuries are caused by something stupid, like tripping on the handle of a backrest. Who would have thought that something that was supposed to make life easier would cause me to fly into a wall and hyperextend my finger? Too bad it wasn’t my middle finger. At least then, I’d have a funny story.

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